


All I Do Is Want You

by samedifference61



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, benarmie, porn with a little plot, should be deciding on a prompt for kylux BB and wrote this instead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samedifference61/pseuds/samedifference61
Summary: Written forkyluxhardkinksprompt:highschool benarmie, Hux is just a couple years older than Ben: Hux and Ben are sorta together and Hux often sneaks into the Solo home at night after Han & Leia have gone to sleep, climbing to Ben's 2nd story window. They quietly have sex, careful as to every sound they make. Hux has to cover Ben's loud moans with his hand as he slowly thrusts into him. Maybe they get caught once, maybe they dont?Armitage will be eighteen in three days.





	All I Do Is Want You

**Author's Note:**

> first stab at a modern benarmie AU that is hardly worthy of kyluxhardkinks. WARNING: Ben is 16 and Armitage is 17, nearly 18. If that's not your thing, then please hit that back button. Thanks for the lovely prompt, anon. Hope you enjoy!

Armitage will be eighteen in three days.

He’s three months from graduating high school, fresh off a distinguished season as captain of the varsity swim team, and has just yesterday been accepted into West Point as a candidate for officer’s training—he’s admittedly still basking in the joy on his father’s face as he read the acceptance letter aloud. Surely climbing a drainpipe, using a garden lattice for stability, and trying to avoid the rose thorns isn’t the kind of thing a mature, military-academy-bound eighteen year old should be up to at three in the morning.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Armitage swears.

It’s lightly raining, and the lattice is slick enough that he catches one of the vines. He sucks on the shallow scratches welling up with blood and swears again from the sting.

No, he doesn’t have to decide now. There are three days left to decide if this is something eighteen year olds do. Three days left to decide if Ben Solo is truly worth all of this.

With a determined grab for the next rung, he continues his ascent.

As usual, the window is left open a third. Armitage pries it open enough to slide through, the old wooden frame giving him little in return. The room is aglow in soft shadows, and Ben is asleep—the television left on, leaving a blazing sitcom laugh track to echo in the background.

Armitage throws his t-shirt off while toeing his rain-slick shoes off, loosens his belt and gets his damp jeans off as well, checks that the door to the dark hallway is closed. He nearly removes his underwear while his confidence is at its peak, but decides against it. Ben’s big, trembling hands peeling them down his thighs, or leaving them tangled there, is something he’s found curiously thrilling as of late. That thought has him cupping his throbbing dick through the thin cotton. He’s so hard already. Coming too soon is definitely something eighteen year-olds _don’t_ do.

Ben’s foot is curled around the edge of the bed frame, the only part of him exposed, and Armitage wraps his hand around Ben’s ankle when he gets close enough to wedge his knee between Ben’s sprawled legs. Letting out a low rumble when he shifts, he gives Armitage just enough space to fit himself between Ben’s thighs.

Leaning forward, he nips at the shell of Ben’s ear, whispers, “Hi,” and reaches under the pile of covers to slip his hand into Ben’s flannel sleeping pants. Ben stretches, a full body tighten-and-release Armitage feels all the way down to his toes. Armitage doesn’t squeeze, just holds Ben’s cock, likes feeling it harden in his hand.

Ben is warm and pliant, and Armitage takes the opportunity to rub his face into the back of Ben’s curly hair. He smells as he always does—chlorine and off brand shampoo. Armitage licks across the back of his neck to taste the salt and sweat clinging to his skin.“Fell asleep waiting for you,” Ben murmurs into a yawn, eyes still closed with his cheek pressed into the pillow. He says this like Armitage holding his cock was part of some plan they made. They didn’t plan this.

Ben tries sometimes—and Armitage tells him they don’t need to make plans because it won’t be happening again, which always ends in a slamming locker door and a string of words about Armitage being a _prissy control freak_ too concerned about what others think of him, all things Armitage pretends he doesn’t hear as he walks away, head high, waving Ben off with an air of senior classman superiority.

Despite Armitage’s lack of public acknowledgement of these encounters, they have become something like a routine anyway.

Armitage reaches for the massive bottle of lube left out on Ben’s bedside table. He always puts it away before he leaves. Shoves it into Ben’s sock drawer in the back corner, and always returns to find it left out again, nestled between a stack of open textbooks, pencils with the erasers chewed off the ends, and empty plastic bottles of Vitamin Water.

“Yeah. Want your dick in me. Fill me up,” Ben babbles, voice mostly muffled by the blankets.

“Shh,” Armitage scolds. Ben’s parents are sleeping just down the hall. Well, his mother is at least. Armitage has stopped trying to predict when Ben’s father might be home.

Armitage puts a hand around his mouth when he shoves Ben’s boxer briefs down around his thighs and slides a slick finger inside. Ben reaches back, steadies Armitage’s hips to grind his ass backward. Armitage tries to keep his movements slow and without sound. It still feels like he’s breathing too hard, the beat of his heart too loud against Ben’s back.

“Was thinking about this all day,” Armitage whispers into Ben’s ear so he can drown out the sound of breath and heartbeats. “I hate it when you sit in front of me in Myer’s class.”

Armitage is sure Ben does it purposefully—knows he can’t _not_ stare at Ben’s hair falling just above his shoulders. And his arms—the way he folds his t-shirt sleeves over twice to make sure everyone knows he’s worked hard for his body—prime conditioning for the state swim meet. When Ben sits in front of him in class, almost too tall and long-limbed to fit comfortably behind the desk, Armitage always thinks about wrapping his thighs around Ben from behind, hooking his ankles together and grinding against his back, finds it harder than ever to concentrate on social cleavages of Nigeria or Chinese political institutions when _he’s actually gotten off like that_ _before_ and can picture it so clearly in his mind. Thankfully, Comparative Government is the only class they share this semester—Armitage needed another AP for his transcript and Ben’s already tested out of everything else.

“I’ll sit behind you next time,” Ben whispers, and Armitage blinks at him, unsure if this is Ben giving in or Ben flirting with him. There’s a hint of a smile when Ben turns his head, so maybe it’s a bit of both.

“Next time,” Armitage grits out as he rolls a condom on, and pushes in without a proper warning. If Ben catches how eager Armitage is, he doesn’t make any comments, just gets his knees under him, so he can meet Armitage’s thrusts forward, back arched without shame—leaving Armitage in charge of making sure this remains quiet. The bed frame creaks, and Armitage is forced to slow down, thrust shallowly, shaking from the effort before long. They’re getting better at this part: working together—finding pleasure through each other instead of one at a time. They try to make it last as long as they can, which is never really all that long, but it’s still so new and overwhelming for either to care very much. They’ll both be ready to go again soon after anyway.

They’ve tried it both ways. Armitage considers himself a _switch_ , according to his own incognito online research, but Ben—Ben goes _crazy_ for it this way, and that makes Armitage want it like this all time, so this is where they’ve found themselves most often. And by most often, Armitage means every time he lets himself want it enough—most notably, last Sunday night in the bed of Ben’s old truck while returning from the state meet.

Armitage comes with his hand still wrapped around Ben’s mouth, still worried about what will come out of it if he lets go.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ben mumbles, getting his hand around his own cock while Armitage is still panting above him, overly sensitive from coming but not wanting to pull out yet. “I think I’m maybe a little bit in love with you.”

Yeah, something exactly like that.

Armitage’s cheeks are burning when he leans forward, kisses Ben open mouthed. Ben can’t expect him to say it back, not yet, but—he must _know_. Must feel that Armitage means it, too. He must, because Ben kisses back, always better at not expecting more than Armitage is ready to give him.

Ben manages to wiggle out from under Armitage, turns onto his back and flings all of the blankets away, peels his tank off to reveal sweat-damp skin and pulls his sleep pants and underwear down before kicking them aside.

With sleepy, half-lidded eyes, he watches Armitage pull the used condom off—tie it and throw it toward the waste basket. Ben strokes himself slowly, still hard and Armitage leans forward to nose at his neck, trails lower to lick one nipple. Ben pushes at Armitage’s shoulder until he relents, slides lower, too blissed out on his own orgasm to make Ben work for it.

Armitage finds he doesn't actually mind cock sucking, not when it’s Ben’s cock. He can’t say he really knows what it would be like with a different cock, but this one, _god_ , Ben’s cock is a masterpiece. Armitage licks up the underside and wraps his hand around the base, wets the tip while he works at the slit. He never succeeds in going very deep—hates the sensation of gagging, but Ben never makes fun of him for drooling enough to probably look really ridiculous.

Ben won’t last long like this, but Armitage makes the most of it, sucks hard and fast, tries to take it all down when Ben comes. The taste isn’t _bad_ , but it isn’t great either. Ben arches his neck back and grits his teeth, digs his fingernails into Armitage’s shoulder, but he remains mercifully silent.

After, they lay together, curled around each other, Armitage’s head resting on Ben’s bicep, until they both fall asleep again, the glare of the TV still haloing them in bursts of greyed light.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Ben is softly saying, prodding Armitage’s shoulder with his cold nose.

Armitage ignores him.

“Hey. Are you awake?” Ben bites down on his shoulder and sucks hard. Armitage lets out a very undignified yelp before he remembers he shouldn't be here and pinches Ben’s side until he lets go. Ben whispers, "She didn't hear you. Calm down," but Armitage listens for any signs anyway. The house remains quiet.

Holding on tightly, Ben says, “Hey, want to come to open swim with me? We can swing by your house first for your homework and stuff. I need to log an extra hour today and tomorrow—missed practice yesterday to take Dad to the airport.”

“You want me to swim laps showing the world how you’ve abused me?”

Ben licks at the wound playfully and Armitage shoves his face away until he settles again, laughing softly. There’s definitely a bruise. When he touches his shoulder, Armitage can feel the heat from it, the raised Ben-shaped teeth marks. He idly wonders what it looks like, how soon it will fade.

There’s silence, so Ben is probably still waiting for an answer about open swim.

“I’ll blow you after,” Ben says, as if this is enough incentive to persuade him. “The locker rooms are always empty before school.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I have a group project due tomorrow for Bio so I’m meeting Phasma in the lab in an hour. I have to ace my Bio exam to keep my GPA stable—slightly more important than blow jobs. Also, I’ve decided to take a break from swimming until the fall.”

Ben snorts in disbelief. “Your GPA is already ridiculously high. I doubt you even need to take the fucking exam to still pull off an A in the class. Also, you won’t be here in the fall. New York, remember?” Ben says this with just a hint of bitterness.

Armitage isn’t ready for any kind of talk about what happens once he’s at West Point and can’t walk a block, climb the drainpipe, and fall asleep with Ben pressed up against his back.

There’s a loud knock at the door, probably Ben's mother. Armitage goes rigid, holds his breath.

“Ben? I thought you were headed out early for swim. It’s nearly six,” Leia says, turning the handle.

Armitage is even less ready for _this_ conversation.

Ben is up from the bed and lunging for the door before she can open it. Probably left the door unlocked again. _Of course he did._ Armitage pulls the blanket over his head and tries to make himself small. He won’t resort to sliding under the bed naked to hide. He still has some pride.

“Armie, is that you again?” Leia succeeds in opening the door a crack before Ben is shoving it closed with a decisive click of the lock. “I know my loving son gave you a key months ago. I’m not sure why you still insist on climbing that drainpipe all hours of the night as if I don’t know what you’re both up to. _Together._ And for the record, I know it’s got nothing to do with playing Overwatch—well, not _much_ anyway.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Ben wails in protest. Armitage hides a smile into the pillow, feeling strangely calm, though he does have a pretty great blanket wall as protection at the moment. Probably that’s the only reason. Leia can be pretty scary when she wants to be.

Ignoring Ben, Leia says, “I swear to every higher-being, Armitage Hux, if I have to call your father because you’ve broken your ankle falling from _my drainpipe_ for stubbornly refusing to use a door, I’ll end you myself.”

Ben lets out a frustrated groan to get her to stop. “ _Please_ , mom. This is the one part of my life I pretend you know nothing about. _Just give me one part._ It’s all I'll _ever_ ask of you.”

“Alright, alright.” Leia sighs. “I’m going. I was never here. Neither of you have any excuses for being late to school, though.” Her voice trails off as she moves away.

When Armitage emerges from the blankets, Ben is looking sheepish, apologetic, from where he’s slumped to the carpet with his back against the door, naked with his soft cock out so casually and his bed hair twisted at odd angles. He’s watching Armitage intently like any sudden movements might startle him into leaping from the window and purposefully breaking his ankle.

Armitage considers leaving—yawns instead, decides he’d rather stay. It’s warm here and he’s comfortable, and he really just wants ten more minutes of Ben pressed up against his back before he lets himself think about his meiosis project for Bio.

“Armie, do you want pancakes?” Leia yells from the top of the stairs. “If you two hurry up, I’ll even add blueberries.”

Ben sighs, staring up at the ceiling, defeated. “She’s evil, I swear to god.”

Armitage sits up, running a hand through his hair and is suddenly slammed with the overwhelming desire to _stay_ because there's nowhere else he wants to be.

“That would be lovely, Ms. Organa!” Armitage finds himself answering back, smiling at Ben’s look of mortification mixed with just a little bit of relief. Armitage isn't going anywhere. Not yet.

Now this feels like a very eighteen year old thing to do—deciding to not have a meltdown over your maybe-boyfriend’s mother finding you sleeping naked together. Casually eating warm blueberry pancakes in the Solo-Organa kitchen and discussing plans for graduation— _for prom_ , while Ben looks from one to the other like he’s watching a movie documenting his life instead of participating in it. He's overcompensating for his nerves by eating a huge stack of pancakes that will not sit well on his stomach if he plans to put any effort into the morning swim he's already late for.

Probably, Ben will blow off open swim and suck Armitage off in the locker room anyway—a fantastic start to the day. He forks another three pancakes onto Ben’s plate without breaking conversation with Leia.

Maybe, Armitage is ready for this adulting thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from James Bay's Pink Lemonade. My tumblr is over [here.](http://samedifference61.tumblr.com/)


End file.
